Chapter Twelve #2
‘I apologise wholeheartedly for my unreasonable behaviour. You deserved far better. But I know an apology can’t undo the hurt I caused.
’ He paused as if debating whether to go on.
‘It’s not an excuse but over the years I learnt to walk away immediately from people who only befriended me for my money. It’s my self-defence mechanism.’
‘Because you’ve been hurt too many times.’
Her words stopped whatever he’d been going to say. Did she imagine his eyes widened? In the silence she heard the shushing of waves on the beach and in the distance, a low rumble of thunder.
She wished she could read his expression.
Logic told her that while he’d behaved abominably in the past, he was at least taking responsibility for his mistakes. His actions had been those of a man who’d never had love or a true friend. He’d never learnt trust.
But her heart screamed that sympathy for him was dangerous. Already she felt too much for him. Just standing so close to him was a temptation she didn’t need.
What did that say about her emotions? Self-destructive? Appallingly constant?
He moved towards her but not close enough to touch. She felt every inch of that distance like a weight pressing down on her chest. Suddenly she ached for what might have been. For the lost happy future she hadn’t allowed herself to think about for years.
‘Come,’ he said gruffly. ‘You need to get inside. You need rest. Theeny will be awake in just a few hours.’
Theeny, not Athena.
Why it struck her, she didn’t know. It wasn’t important that he’d called their baby by the nickname Dido used. Not compared with the big issues with which they grappled.
Yet a glimmer of something warm and hopeful settled in her chest. She fell into step beside him as he adjusted his pace to hers and they walked together into the house.
* * *
Panos emerged from the shower and towelled himself dry. Even the hot water couldn’t counteract the icy chill at his core. It would take more than an apology to atone for what he’d done. Even then he doubted anything could erase his self-disgust.
Every word he’d said to Dido tonight had been true. But there was more. He’d told her of his regret over how he’d treated her. What he hadn’t voiced was his profound shame. Or his alarm that he wasn’t the man he’d thought himself.
That realisation sat, leaden and cold, in his belly.
Born to riches courtesy of his family’s vast shipping company, he’d worked to build it into a multifaceted, modern conglomerate. Not because he needed more money, but because loafing bored him.
Conscious that his privileged life wasn’t the norm, he’d insisted on excellent pay and conditions for all employees. He’d increased the percentage of profits channelled into charitable causes.
Then he’d begun establishing enterprises of his own, like a holiday camp cum training centre at what had been his family’s sprawling private resort. Children’s health and literacy programs rolling out across multiple countries.
He’d considered himself a good man, or at least trying hard to be one.
It’s easy to be good at a distance. So much harder to be admirable in personal relationships when your prejudices get in the way.
He knew little about personal relationships, truly personal ones. He had multiple templates for ones that were toxic but no positive ones.
Until Dido came along and you found yourself out of your depth.
Was that why he’d reacted so vehemently to the suggestion she’d played him false? Why he’d been too incensed even to face her? Incensed and hurt.
Flicking off the bathroom light, he walked into the bedroom, pausing at the sight of his rumpled bed.
His heart dived at the reminder that mere hours previously he’d been making love to Dido.
He’d lost himself in her sweet body, accepting her generosity and taking enormous delight in giving her pleasure.
For the first time in years he’d felt whole.
When they’d reached the peak together it had felt transcendent.
Not a word he usually connected with sex.
But with Dido the experience felt more than physical.
Panos was brooding on that when he noticed a glow from the hallway. In deference to Dido’s presence, he pulled on trousers and padded out to investigate.
It was the night light in the nursery. His chest squeezed as he stood in the doorway, his gaze travelling from his beautiful daughter, fast asleep, to her mother, still wearing that skimpy, scarlet nightie with her lustrous curls a dark halo.
Despite his dour thoughts, primal awareness jolted him. He felt the hurried rush of blood and the thickening in his groin.
He’d have to be dead and six feet underground not to respond to Dido.
Yet he saw her pensive expression as she surveyed their daughter. And the way Dido was curled up in her chair, arms wrapped around her knees.
Panos moved and her head whipped around. Instantly that tingling heat shimmered under his skin as her gaze locked on his chest, followed the line of his body down then rose again to meet his.
Beneath the weight of negative feelings, a tiny flicker of satisfaction flared. She wanted him, still responded to him as he did to her.
Satisfaction and relief.
He stopped beside her, allowing himself a reassuring glance at their extraordinary miracle of a child. Every time he saw her he couldn’t quite believe his immense good fortune in having a daughter.
Then he turned to Dido, pitching his voice low. ‘You should be in bed. You need sleep.’
Eventually she nodded then rose. When they were out of the room she stopped, yet seemed reluctant to speak. That was new. What could make this normally confident woman hesitate now?
‘Did you mean it, Panos? What you said in bed?’
His heart stopped for an instant. There was no question what she meant.
He’d told himself she hadn’t heard the words that had been dragged from the deepest recesses of his soul earlier tonight. He hadn’t been aware of even thinking them until he murmured them against her damp, scented skin.
She’d said he needed physical completion with her and he’d admitted, ‘Only with you, Dido.’
Because what he experienced with her was a compulsion, outstripping anything he’d felt with another woman.
It was different, something he’d barely let himself admit, even in those glorious early days.
Because to him such powerful emotion was dangerous and untested.
He’d had to guard against it until he fathomed what it meant.
‘Panos?’
He cleared his throat and it sounded like a growl. ‘Yes, I meant it.’
He rolled his shoulders and met her eyes. Her lips were parted and her stare hooked at something deep inside him. He felt tension, confusion, then relief.
Dido moved nearer, jaw angling up, and it took everything he had not to touch her there, hard fingers against smooth flesh. He saw her quickening pulse.
Did it thunder like his?
‘When you say only with me…?’
Maybe this was another reason he didn’t have close relationships. Admitting the truth felt like tearing off strips of skin. But she deserved honesty.
‘I haven’t been with another woman since you.’ He didn’t know what to do with his hands and shoved them into his pockets. ‘I haven’t wanted any other woman.’
Her gasp was loud. Shock or rejection?
It must be near three in the morning—in those thin hours when troubles magnified and a body’s life force beat weaker. Anxiety filled him. It was the first time he’d laid his feelings open for anyone. Not since his teenage love who’d betrayed him from the first.